Chapter Fourteen

Harry frowned, following the impressions in the soil by wand-light. He'd followed Hermione's trail from the castle based on what the map had shown him, and sure enough, at some point, two other sets of tracks approached from behind to pop up on either side of her. But then her footprints vanished, and only the two larger, heavier sets continued on toward the Whomping Willow.

He wasn't incredibly adept at this sort of thing, but he thought it fairly obvious that—

"Do you actually know what you're doing?"

Fairly obvious that Malfoy needed to shut the bloody hell up and climb off Harry's back, already! Letting out a hissing breath from between clenched teeth, Harry straightened up and pivoted to face the other wizard. "I know a little bit of it. Just enough to know what we're looking for, and that's only because of the forest floor is made of dirt—you know? Picks up footprints and shit like that pretty easy."

Draco rolled his eyes, hardly impressed with Potter's survivalist pedigree. "All right, Mr. Wilderness. What've you got so far?"

"Well, Hermione's footprints stop here, where she encounters Greyback and Mulciber, and the two werewolves continue on. There's no sort of shuffling or interrupted impressions I can see, so I don't think there was a struggle."

"Well, there wouldn't be, would there?" Draco asked with scowl. Honestly, how did Granger make it through seven years worth of conversations with someone as thick as this one? "They're both twice her size. If they managed to sneak up on her, which I'm fairly certain they probably did, they likely knocked her out and carried her. Or, if she did struggle, it wasn't anything that we'd notice, because they're twice her size. Either of them could've easily overpowered her and kept walking while carrying her like it was nothing."

Harry's nostrils flared as he met Malfoy's gaze in the dim wash of illumination from their wands. He didn't hate Hermione being right, he realized. He hated Malfoy being right.

"Fine, you've a point."

"Bloody hell, Potter. Why was it even a question? You couldn't think she went with them willingly."

"I didn't think that!" Harry shook his head, turning on his heel and walking off in what seemed a random direction. "But Greyback's shown that he's got a bit of a hang up with her. I guess I just wanted to make sure that whatever happened out here, he didn't hurt her."

"Oh." Nodding, Draco trailed after him. "So the footprint rubbish was secondary. What you were really looking for was—"

"Blood, yeah. I came out here hoping I wouldn't find anything like that, but I had to know. As long as he's not hurting her, there's a chance I can get her back unharmed."

"Wait, wait." Clearly not thinking it through, Draco grabbed Harry by the elbow and turned him around. The gesture was far too familiar for Harry's comfort, but Draco didn't seem to notice as he continued talking. "Get her back? Merlin's beard, Potter! If he was careful in taking her from the grounds, he's probably not going to hurt her while he's got her hostage. But you can't go flitting off to wherever you think they might be in hopes of some stupid-but-daring rescue."

"And why the hell not?" Stupid-but-daring rescues were sort of Harry and Hermione's 'thing', after all.

"Because she's one person! I get it, she's the brains behind your operation, but she's still just one witch, and you've got a literal castle full of people depending on you." Draco shook his head, unable to believe he'd really had to play the voice of reason to Harry fucking Potter. "Honestly! What sort of leader are you?"

"The sort who never asked to be one!" The shouted words had fallen from Harry's lips before he even thought through what he was saying.

Chewing at his lower lip, the pale-haired wizard nodded. "And that's why, if Greyback's forces do come at the castle tomorrow night, he's going to win. He chose to be a leader, and you seem to want nothing to do with it. You'd even go so far as to sabotage your side by ditching them, all to go rescue one witch!"

In a blink, Draco was on the ground, his cheek throbbing and a split in the corner of his mouth. Harry stood over him, his trembling fist still in the air.

"Hell, Potter?!" Struggling to his feet, Draco wiped the blood from his mouth with the edge of his sleeve.

Harry pulled back his arm and dropped it to his side as he shook his head. "Never make the mistake of thinking Hermione is unimportant. You got that?"

"Wha'ever," Draco said in a dull tumble of sound. He shouldered past Harry to continue along toward where the Hufflepuff and other Gryffindor had stopped on the map. "This is what I get for trying to talk sense into you. No wonder you never had many friends."

Ignoring the need to shake out his aching knuckles, Harry followed along behind Draco. The Slytherin wizard stopped, staring down into what appeared to be a sinkhole.

"Well? You see anything?"

With a frown and a string of hushed curses under his breath, Draco leaned closer. "I dunno, not really, I think. Whoever was out here must've been digging for something. I don't imagine anyone would've simply not noticed a hole this—" He tumbled forward, into the hole as some of the soil at the edge gave away under his feet.

Harry winced at the dull thudding sound as the other young man landed hard on his bum. Malfoy was really not having a good night, now was he?

Holding in a snicker, he asked, "You okay down there?"

Draco shook his head and climbed to his feet, muttering his reply as he wiped dirt from his backside. "Asking like you actually give a rat's arse. I'm fine. Just . . . think it's fairly obvious whatever might've been here, there's no trace of it. Whoever they were, they must've used magic to excavate this spot."

Harry frowned. Who the bloody hell would be wasting time on something like this right now? "I don't under—"

"Wait. I do see something."

As Malfoy lowered himself down on one knee to peer down at something in the dirt, Harry dropped into the hole beside him. Holding down his illuminated wand for added lighting, he arched a brow. "Are those . . . ?"

"Robes. Looks like. Keep the light on it. Nox." Extinguishing his own wand, Draco turned his magic to carefully lifting the tattered garment from the soil. "Well," he said, vaulting himself out of the sinkhole and then guiding the robes along behind him. "Let's go find out who was poking about in some unmarked grave, shall we?"

Deciding it was his turn to be the voice of reason, Harry climbed out, as well, shaking his head as he fell into step beside Malfoy. "Look, we don't know for certain that it's a grave."

"Oh, yes." Draco rolled his eyes, tipping his head side-to-side as he spoke. "Because it's so common for someone to bury robes hip-deep under the earth in the middle of a bloody forest."

Harry scowled, biting back a scathing retort. Sniping at each other wasn't going to get them anywhere. "Wha'ever. We need to get that inside, and let Professor McGonagall know about the werewolves taking Hermione."

"Tonight's just full of all sorts of—"

"Mr. Potter? Mr. Malfoy?"

"—fun."

The wizards halted at the sound of Minerva McGonagall's shocked voice calling their names. They both looked toward her, noting Professor Sprout at her elbow.

"What are you two doing out here at this hour?"

Draco and Harry exchanged a glance at the professor's uncharacteristically stammered question. A Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff? Well, didn't that just fit nicely with this mess.

"Well," Draco said in his typical sneering tone. "We might ask you the same thing, Professor."

Harry hated that he found himself gripping his wand defensively as the pale-haired wizard went on, but everything was getting so bloody confusing. He wasn't certain who to trust right now and he hated that feeling.

"Digging around in old graves, by any chance, were you?" Draco moved his wand, dragging the tattered robes into the path of Harry's wand-light.

Harry realized then that he was hoping for a denial. Some coincidence that meant this had nothing to do with them.

Pomona held up her hand in a placating gesture as she said, "This isn't what it looks like. Please, allow us to explain."

The admission that whatever this was did involve them, somehow, sent his heart plummeting into his stomach.

"I was right, wasn't I?" Mulciber asked as he and Fenrir stalked down the staircase, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder.

His brow furrowing, the other werewolf looked up, puzzled. "Right about what?"

Smirking Orias darted his gaze back in the direction of the witch's room before answering. "I told her I thought you were enamored of her. It's true, isn't it? She's more than just a missed opportunity to you, isn't she?"

"She's always been more than that. From the moment she and I first crossed paths," Fenrir said with a shrug. True, the moment they'd first crossed paths, he might've overreacted in his desire to claim her for his own, talking about taking bites of her and trying to get Bellatrix to let him have her and all that.

Not the best first impression, he'd grant her that.

His expression turning thoughtful, Orias halted, waiting for the other wolf to pause. When Fenrir pivoted on his heel to face him, Orias spoke. "It's not just that it's rare finding a Muggleborn with wolf's blood, is it? There's something you're not telling me."

Snorting a chuckle, Fenrir shrugged once more. "Perhaps because it doesn't matter if you know or not?"

Nodding, Orias arched a brow. "Fine, then. Something you're not telling her."

At that, Fenrir's face fell. Nodding, he said, "You're right. There is. I haven't told her, because I don't know what it means, nor how she'd take it."

"Which is?"

Biting his lower lip as he thought, Fenrir shook his head. "Sorry, Mulciber, but that's between her and me if I decide to tell her."

Orias rolled his eyes, but held up his hands in surrender as they started walking, again. "Fine," he repeated with a sigh. "Well, then, let's go have a look at my lovely accommodations for tomorrow evening."

Fenrir laughed, stepping ahead of him to lead the way. He was going to have to watch himself with this one—sticking his nose in where it most certainly didn't belong.

After all, if he couldn't yet understand what it meant that Hermione Granger had smelled familiar to him when they'd first met, why the bloody hell would he tell anyone else before even bringing it up to her?